


This Long a Life (PG-13 for language)

by Holde_Maid



Series: Highlander50_-_Methos [5]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Community: highlander50, LiveJournal Prompt, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-04
Updated: 2007-04-04
Packaged: 2018-07-18 05:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7301479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos' take on "forever young"</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Long a Life (PG-13 for language)

**Author's Note:**

> Title: This Long a Life  
> Author: Holde Maid aka Gerda aka Sparrow Holde  
> Claim: Methos (which does NOT mean I own him, or any part of the Highlander universe)  
> Prompt: Lasting.  
> Rating/Warnings: PG-13, I suppose  
> Word count: 225  
> Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the Highlander universes are mine. Also, no harm intended and no profit made.  
> Author's Note: Thanks to Jinxed_Wood for the prompt!  
> Prompt Table: http://holde-maid.livejournal.com/11492.html#cutid2

Aeons. Neverending, everlasting eternity. Immortality.  
Bullshit. All those expressions were romantic crap.

NOTHING lasted. NOTHING remained unchanged. And Immortals did die.

The only Goddess Methos believed in and perhaps even worshipped, after a fashion, was Fortuna with her fickle mind. Because no order, no mindset, no Zeitgeist remained as it was, and even the pattern in which everything moved on from generation to generation was unpredictable. You could only rely on the elders complaining of the decline of culture and morals, because the next generation was different already.

The only constant in life was change.

5000 years (or whatever his true age was, since this was just a number, an educated guesstimate) had turned Methos' psyche into quicksilver. He had had to shed everything that had ever rooted him into a specific century or millennium. He had become change, killing again and again who he was.

All he kept were the seeds of the men he might be again. Some good, some bad, most of them somewhere in between. When the current situation provided the right soil, the seed was planted, and the result shaped by ruthless pruning, if need be.

So even in repetition, there was change. So much so that he no longer remembered who he had originally been. For nothing else could have afforded him this long a life.


End file.
